Cold on the Soul
by LastOfTheWarlords
Summary: 20 years after the events of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Wizarding World recovers. But there are too many loose ends from the war against Voldemort, and from the shadows, the world is growing colder.
1. Prologue

**Welcome to my new story. Heads up, all rights and whatnot are JKs; only own my laptop. Enjoy!**

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**Prologue**

It started - it _really _started - as all things start, in these days and times; on a smartphone, with the tap of a button. Or, to tell the truth, not one phone, but many. Many phones, all taking photos and videos of precisely the same thing at precisely the same time. Around them, amongst them, cameras sent the same spectacle to televisions across the world, and suddenly the secret came out. Of course, secrets do not come out quietly. Secrets are secrets for good reason, and this particular secret was perhaps the most important secret in history. When it came out, when the secret was told, when the world learned the truth, the world changed forever.

It changed, on one bright, sunny Tuesday in June. One Tuesday, when the air was crisp and still smelt of spring, something extraordinary happened. Something remarkable. Something terrible. It happened, and because those watching were of a technological age, they immediately reached for their phones and took a picture. When thousands of people take photos of the same thing at the same time, claims that it is a hoax go out the window.

Just like that.

Just like that, the dam burst. Just like that, the secret was told. Just like that, the world nearly ended. It discovered the existence of magic.

xXXx

History is rarely like stories, though many historians disagree. However, history differs from stories in one particular respect, and that is that stories _begin_. History does not. And neither does it end. It does not just begin, on one fine June morning. It has been going for quite some time, and will continue to go on. So in order for one to truly understand this particular story, which is more of a history in any case, one needs to know what happened to history before that Tuesday. It _could _be said that this story began 73 years before, with a war.

There was a war, and it was in parallel with another. One was fought and the world was afraid, and one was fought and no-one heard. The Second World War, and the Great Wizarding War. Both were terrible, but the outcomes were different. While the people of the non-magical world rejoiced after the end of the Second World War, freed at last from the terror of warfare and threat of expansion from the Nazi threat, the magical world lived in fear. They had learned something: that those who did not practice magic had been terrifyingly underestimated.

Magic can do many things, but it cannot contain a bomb's explosion. It cannot halt an army. And it can rarely stop a bullet. Suddenly, magic became inferior, and with aeroplanes roaring overhead and their cities being destroyed by forces that they did not even know existed, they learned to once again fear those who did not practice magic.

The war ended, however, and the threat was finished. A duel was fought. Albus Dumbledore ended the war.

It took its toll, though; the magical community, never trusting of non-magicals in the first place, learned to fear them, especially as news of another weapon reached them, with the destruction of the Japanese cities Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They scuttled back into hiding, and the distrust of non-magicals and their magical offspring grew.

However, unlike stories, history never ends, and one event leads smoothly to another. 35 years later, Wizarding Britain fought a second war. It ripped the magical community apart: the fear of the non-magicals led to a movement to exterminate or subjugate any and all who had blood ties to the non-magical world. Led by a psychopathic killer who called himself Lord Voldemort, the movement killed the hero of the last war - Albus Dumbledore - toppled the Ministry of Magic, and almost succeeded in taking over the magical world. It was a war fought using fear.

There was another war, and it ended with a duel. Harry Potter ended the war.

However, history never ends, and the loose threads of one story tie and knot together to form the next generation's story. Few, for example, took the threat of the handful of escaped Death Eaters - followers of Lord Voldemort - seriously. Few gave any thought at all to the remnants of the terrifying army of Dementors - Dark creatures that fed on happiness and left their victims a soulless shell - that Lord Voldemort had commanded. Few could afford to house and clothe the many orphans of the war. And going even further back, no one thought to pull down the impenetrable fortress built by Grindelwald in that first Great Wizarding War.

The threads tied together.

Peace rarely lasts. Although things returned to normal, and the heroes of the last war became the leaders of the next Ministry, there was always a problem. Magic was growing too big, and the non-magicals too advanced, to stay secret for long.

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**Thanks for reading, and remember that reviews are _demanded_.**

**Love,  
R**


	2. Chapter 1

**Actually starting the story, I hope you enjoy. Once again, I own next to nothing, and have no hopes of any rights to JK's magnificent creation. Anyway, enjoy, and remember to leave a review on the way out!**

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**CHAPTER 1**

_The Hollow__  
_

He couldn't wake up, on days like this. Who could? Who would leave the warm, comforting cocoon of blankets to go into the freezing outside world? Who would be so ridiculously self-controlled?

"Come on, it's time to get up." His mother could, apparently.

He groaned. "It's too cold. Can't I get up later?" he pleaded, as she bustled in and flung open the curtains. It didn't make much of a difference to the light in the room; thick mist swirled, dulling the sun's early rays.

"You promised me, Sam!" his mother told him, and he sighed. He had promised her.

So when she had left, he shuffled into a warm pair of slippers and trudged downstairs to the kitchen. There was already warm toast and bacon made - he felt guilty for complaining, now - and the two girls were happily eating at the table, already dressed and ready to go.

"Morning," he yawned, and his sisters chirped their replies.

"Sam?" the youngest, Emily, asked, and it sounded not so much like a question as the opening of negotiations. "Can we take Maddy with us today? Please?"

Maddy was, his still-muddled brain informed him, one of her many, giggling friends. Either the red-headed one or the unusually tall one. He sighed, faux despairingly. "If we must," he replied, and she nodded thanks. "Did you sleep well, girls?" he asked after a moment's pause.

They both admitted that they had, and then Annabel, the elder sister, cleared her throat with the air of someone carrying out an unpleasant duty. "If Em' is taking one of her friends, can I ask—"

Sam groaned. "Let me guess:" he grumbled, "Clair." Another friend of the girls', she rarely seemed to go a day without seeing Annabel, and giggled annoyingly whenever Sam said something.

Annabel nodded meekly.

"Fine," he told her ungracefully. "We'll leave when I'm dressed though, so if she's not ready by then..."

They both nodded, and if he rushed to clean his plate off and get dressed, it still wasn't fast enough. By the time he had pulled on his his socks and beanie, and trumped downstairs, Clair was already sat with Annabel at the table, tapping away at her phone. Sam glared at her suspiciously, but the look she returned was filled only with innocence. He snorted. "Alright, you lot, 'we ready to go?"

They _said _they were, but he still had to wait for five minutes on the doorstep, stamping and shivering, as Annabel put on her socks, then her shoes, and then remembered to pick up her phone. His patience was almost run out by the time she materialised next to him as if she hadn't kept him waiting. "What are we waiting for?" she asked, and he glared at her.

With Clair and Annabel meandering behind, Sam took Emily's hand and they strolled through the frost-covered fields towards the centre of the little town in the Hollow. The path was well-travelled, and the closer they came to the town, more of the trees beside the path were covered with strings of Christmas lights.

They met Emily's friend Maddy outside the girl's house - she was the red-headed one, he noted - and after assuring her mother that he'd be taking care of the two younger girls and leaving the other two to their fate, they headed on. In the centre of the town, beside the little church with its graveyard, the Hollow had a Christmas market every year. Stalls of wooden toys, warm winter wear, fascinating lights and knick-knacks for the few tourists who ventured into the quiet country town were the perfect place to buy last-minute Christmas gifts. At least, that was how his mother put it; Sam privately thought that a week before Christmas day was _hardly _last-minute.

Annabel and her friend wandered off, and Sam trailed after the two younger girls as they chattered excitedly about the more interesting wares on the stalls. One particular stall holder caught his eye, and he waltzed over, herding the girls in front of him.

"Well, well, well," she said when she caught sight of him, "if it isn't the troublemaker. What are you doing here, young man? I have enough to worry about without you hanging around."

She was teasing, and he knew it, so he grinned. "Hello, Mrs Potter. More baked goods?"

"Yes, but they're not for you, and they're not for free," she shook a finger at him. Catching sight of the two girls, she smiled. "Hello, Emily. Hello, Maddy. What are you two up to today?" she asked, handing them a biscuit each and ignoring Sam's protests.

"We're shopping," Emily told her proudly, holding up her little purse as Exhibit A.

"Are you now? Haven't you already bought presents?" Mrs Potter asked them, mock-disapproving.

Emily looked ashamed. "No," she admitted, "I forgot."

"Shame on you," Mrs Potter grinned. "Have you bumped into Lily yet?"

The girls almost jumped with glee. "She's back from school?" Maddy asked.

Mrs Potter nodded gravely. "Yes, she arrived back yesterday. I'm surprised that you don't already know."

"Sam," Emily said, turning to her brother and managing to extend his name to six syllables, "can we go find Lily? Please?" She batted her eyelashes as he sighed and sent Mrs Potter a dirty look.

"Three of them, now," he grumbled, and she laughed. "Where is she?"

She pointed off in the direction of the church, and the girls took off. "James is with her," Mrs Potter told him as he rushed after them, and he waved back.

"Thank _goodness_," he said, having to jog to keep up.

They found the Potters loitering next to a toy stall, and the girls immediately called out to Lily, who bounded over to them gleefully and started chattering away. Sam raised a hand in greeting, and James smiled and nodded as they fell into step behind the noisy group of girls. "I heard you just got back," Sam ventured, after a while. "How was school?"

James shrugged. "Pretty good. Everyone's going on about exams next year-" he started.

"These being the exams at the _end _of next year?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Yeah," came the reply. "And there's a heap of homework and essays to do. Haven't started yet," he admitted, and Sam nodded. "Not much, really. Same as ever. Dad got a bit annoyed a couple of months ago 'cause I got blamed for blowing up the school toilets."

"That's pretty good," Sam allowed, and James smirked.

"Cheers. Anyway, how was it for you?"

Sam shrugged. "You know, the usual," he said. "Pretty much the same as you, I'd think." He didn't notice the twitch of James' mouth at that.

They had been trailing behind the girls for long enough that the three were now laden with bags, and they allowed themselves to be burdened with their sisters - and Maddy's - presents. The girls bustled off again, and when they were out of earshot, James pulled a paper bag from his pocket. "Want one?" he asked, and Sam pulled out one of Mrs Potter's biscuits.

"Thanks," he replied. "You know your mum wouldn't let me have any before?"

"She's getting worse."

"It's probably because we keep taking them, and she knows you share them with me."

"Probably."

They strolled in silence for a while. The girls came and went, leaving more bags, and they occasionally stopped to say hello to the stall holders and the familiar faces they saw around. They spent five minutes chatting nonchalantly to Tiffany Burbage, who lived up the road from Sam, and had to rush after the girls in a panic when the three had disappeared. They munched on Mrs Potter's cooking and talked about school and life in general, and stopped back at the Potters' stall to drop off the bags before taking off again, with more biscuits.

"What are you lot doing for Christmas?" James asked suddenly.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Don't think Dad'll be home again' - Sam's dad was a pilot, and often worked on Christmas and New Year for the extra money - "so it'll probably be a little quiet again."

"Your mum can't be happy 'bout that," James said, displaying uncharacteristic insight.

Sam shrugged again. "Yeah, but she's used to it. She says she's okay about it, but I don't think she is."

James considered this for a few moments, in the thoughtful manner of one engaging in deep thought, before asking, "What if you came over to ours? I think my mum and my aunt are having everyone over here for Christmas. Maybe she'll say yes to you guys coming too."

"Everyone?" Sam asked, having met James' mother's side of the family - the uncles, the cousins, the grandparents, the adopted cousins and the annoying and ancient great-great-aunt who had only visited once. James heard his trepidation.

"Nah, just Uncle Ron's family. Mum says she doesn't want a repeat of the Christmas we had with Grandma the other year," James assured him.

Sam considered it. It _would _be fun, there was no doubt about it, but his mother had always been adamant that Christmas was a time for family - then again, she had always said that when his father was around to complete the family. The Potters had never invited them over, though. "That'd be pretty cool," he replied, making up his mind. "I'll have to ask my mum."

"I'll have to ask _mine_," James said with a wry grin.

xXXx

"James Sirius Potter-" his mother started, when he asked later that night.

James rolled his eyes.

"Don't you give me that attitude, young man! What were you thinking, inviting them over for Christmas?" she asked him furiously.

"It's not a big deal, mum; Sam's dad is away again, and I thought it'd be a good idea," he told her.

She crossed her arms. They were stood in the kitchen of their cottage in Godric's Hollow, where they always spent Christmas, after he had told her about his conversation with Sam. Her cooking lay discarded on the benchtop, but she was floury to the elbow. His dad was reading the Daily Prophet in his armchair in the next room. There was a crinkling sound as he turned a page.

"Be that as it may, it's _not _a good idea, and especially not a good idea to tell him that before you ask me!"

"But _mum_," James said, exasperated, "he's going to be all alone for Christmas!"

"He's not 'all alone' at all! His mother will be there, and so will his sisters-"

"How would you like to spend Christmas away from dad?" James asked desperately, and knew immediately that he'd hit upon a weak spot. He spoke quickly, "I mean, I know that it'd mean we couldn't have any magic, but that's not too much of a big deal, is it? I mean, if you ask Auntie to help you with the cooking, that won't be too bad, and maybe Kreacher could do some back at Grimmauld and just Apparate it here. It wouldn't be impossible!"

Her hands had moved to her hips. "What do you think, dear?" she asked, addressing her husband.

There was another crinkling. "I think he's got a point, and it's very kind of him to invite them over. Very generous," his father said, not taking his eyes from the page.

James puffed up with pride.

"However," his father went on, and James quickly deflated, "you're still in a lot of trouble for that business with Moaning Myrtle. It's generous of you, but you've forgotten to think about your mother again. I'm fine with them coming, so long as it's _you _who helps your mother in the kitchen, and you have to explain to your aunt why we can't give each other our presents."

James hadn't thought about that: opening a broom in front of Sam's family would be hard to explain. "Okay," he said, summoning his dignity. "And I'll help do the decorating, seeing as we can't magic it up." He exuded helpfulness, but his father wasn't deceived.

"The Map is Albus' until you've made up for the Myrtle business," his father said, still not taking his eyes from the page. "And that's very generous of you."

xXXx

James was inexplicably glum when he called 'round to Sam's house the following day.

"Awesome!" Sam replied happily when James told him of his parents' decision. "Hang on, let's go ask Mum. Mum!" he called, and they wandered to the lounge, where the replied "Yes?" issued from. Sam decided that bluntness was the best strategy. "Mum, can we go over to the Potter's for Christmas?"

She stared. "To the Potter's?" she repeated.

"Yes," he affirmed patiently.

She put down the book she had been reading and took off her glasses. "Hello, James, dear," she smiled, and turned her attention back to Sam. "Well, have you asked James' mother?"

Sam sighed. "Yep," he replied. "I talked to James about it yesterday when we were down at the markets - oh, he's back from school, by the way - and he talked to his mum about it last night, and she said it was fine, so long as it's okay with you. James' Uncle Ron's family will be coming over too," he added as an afterthought.

"All of them?" his mother asked, with a touch of trepidation: she, too, had met James' great-great-aunt.

James shook his head. "No, just Hugo and Rosie and their mum and dad," he reassured her.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be a burden to your mother," she started, but James smiled.

"Don't worry, Mrs Sam's Mum," he said, and she laughed, "my mum's fine with it. So long as Sam helps out with the cooking," he added, in a stroke of brilliance. Sam glared.

Sam's mother pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "I suppose we could..." she began, and Sam and James high-fived. "But I'll talk to your mother about it first, alright? Is she in?"

James looked momentarily panicky, but then smiled. "Not at the mo'; she's out with A., but if you want to come over in about an hour, I'm sure she'll be back by then," he said.

"Well, I'll speak to her about it then. Why don't you two go off and play?"

But James was already heading for the door. "Actually, Mrs O'Neill, I've gotta get back; mum wants me decorating. I just came over to tell Sam it was okay by my mum."

"Okay, then."

"See you later, James."

xXXx

"So _then _I had to go back and tell mum that Sam's mum was coming 'round, and then come all the way here," James finished up, cradling the freshly-poured cup of tea his aunt had poured him.

"Oh, poor thing," she said consolingly, but he thought he detected a soupçon of a smidgeon of amusement. "And all because you invited a friend over for Christmas?" When she nodded, she _tsk_ed mock-disapprovingly and handed him a muffin. "That's a little harsh, isn't it, Rosie?"

His cousin, clad in oven mittens which went up past her elbows, nodded. "I think it's very kind of you to invite your friend, James," she told him seriously.

He ruffled her hair. "_That's _why you're my favourite cousin, Rosie. You understand my plight," he grinned at his aunt's amused expression. He became appropriately dejected again. "So I'm sorry that I've messed up your Christmas, Auntie. I guess it was a mistake to try to be kind to my friend."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you get smart with me, James Potter. Sometimes you are _too _much like your Uncle George. I'm on your mother's side; you've made things a lot more difficult for her, and it's only fair that you have to share some of the burden."

"But it's not _some _of the burden! I have to do so much work!" he slumped down in his chair. "And Dad still won't give me back the Map."

"That's your fault too," his aunt told him, and she seemed a lot sterner now. "Shame on you for upsetting Myrtle. What has she ever done to deserve that kind of treatment?"

"Moaned?"

She cuffed him on the back of the head, and took the remainder of the muffin. "Now off you trot, young man. Let your mother know I'll be bringing the turkey with me, too."

He sighed, and headed for the door.

* * *

_The Fortress_

These days, only a few squatters lived in the abandoned halls. It was remote, forbidding, and cold; hardly the best place for a night's sleep. Nonetheless, there were a few who preferred the fortress as a home; the rejected, the outcast, the unloved and the despised made this their abode. And as long as they kept to their turf, he was fine with it.

His name, though he had not gone by it for many years, was Jacob, though most of the people who knew him - and the use of the term 'people' here does not necessarily mean 'human' - referred to him as Gate, because that was where he stayed. In a room above the arch through which any would have to enter the fortress, Gate was safe. The doors had thick steel bars - magical, obviously; no Muggle metal could withstand the forces these doors were meant to withstand - and he had a clear view of the entrance to the fortress. If anyone came through, he would be the first to know.

He lived there, slept there and ate there, safe from the prying eyes of most who resided in the abandoned halls, and safe from the outside world, which wanted him dead. Most of the residents feared the last; even those who assured each other that they were not criminals were hunted. Some were werewolves, he was sure; he could hear them howl on a full moon. That was when he tightened the bars on the doors and huddled silently in a corner.

There were criminals too. Murderers, rapists, thieves, bandits, and even a trio of tall, dark Englishmen who claimed to have served their Dark Lord before he fell. They stayed here, not certain of where to go or what to do, hated by all.

Gate didn't consider himself a criminal; he was hunted, he told himself, unjustly. There had been a girl, and he had been a boy, and they had enjoyed one night together. Then her father had found him in her bed the next morning, and claimed that he had forced himself upon the man's daughter. What a crime: for a Muggleborn to have loved a Pure-Blood for one night.

He did not have to stay away forever. Eventually the father would die, and he could return to his country and his family, and maybe even the girl. It had been ten years, though, and he couldn't even remember her name, nor the sound of her voice. The cold stone of the fortress sucked them away.

He was a wizard though; untrained, maybe, but they hadn't taken his wand. He had made it himself, not being able to afford the services of a professional wandmaker, he had spoken to an old man who had told him of the old ways of wand-fashioning. Black Ash and Unicorn hair, 11 inches. It had taken him months to get his hands on a single strand of Unicorn hair. It was now his most prized possession.

He was a wizard, which is why, on the 18th of December, he could see them.

They glided in, tall dark shapes of utter night, and he felt his happiness - his hope, which had kept him sane these long years in the fortress - drain away. He heard his family shout at him, ashamed. He heard the girl crying, telling her father she did not know the man in her bed. He heard the wolves, on the nights of the full moon, growling at the door to the gatehouse.

He was herded by clammy, scabbed hands to the courtyard, beneath the bulk of the fortress itself. It was night, but cloudy and dark, but he did not have to see them to know where they were. He could fell their breath, sucking away.

There were others brought in, too. More and more, until he thought that everyone in the fortress had been brought to kneel on the stones of the courtyard. Men, werewolves, vampires, and more. The darkest dregs of the lands around, fleeing to the fortress for protection. It hadn't helped them.

More and more, they drained away his joys and his dreams, until there was no point any more. He couldn't remember a time when there was hope, or happiness. The world would never be warm again. It felt cold on the soul. The others, he could see, felt it too, in varying degrees. The werewolves seemed to be affected the worst, for whilst he could still think, though it all seemed hopeless, they were curled up, weeping or crying out. Life was hard for a werewolf.

He barely noticed the approach of the hooded figure. He didn't see their face. He didn't hear their voice. All he knew was the grip of those clammy hands as they held him firm and put that horrible, sucking mouth to his.

The Dementors took his soul.


End file.
